High School Evil
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: She's the wingless angel, and she's found hell in another misfit amongst once-fits. AU, 2013 movieverse.
1. Prologue: One More Year

******DISCLAIMER: I am being possessed by telekinetic force, but I do not own ****_Carrie_****; I am possessed by high school evil, but I do not own ****_Jennifer's Body_**** either. That's just how it is.**

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Margaret's voice rose above the radio's muddle of static and Positive 89.3: "For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man."

Carrie did not recognize the rest of her mother's spiel, as there was a thick fog condensing her train of thought. Tomorrow's the March to Zion, the Final Judgement, the Trial led by Pontius Pilate―Carrie would've preferred to call it the first day of school, but her mother wouldn't allow such a simplified lexicon. They hadn't shopped for supplies like most families do; her mother salvaged her daughter's scathed binders and made sure to wash her many shirt-waist dresses. Carrie tried not to show her dismay, but if her smile didn't appear as genuine as she'd hoped, her mother didn't notice.

Part of her looked forward to school starting, as this would be her final judgement (or, as most teenagers call it, Senior Year). One more year, one more thrust into the social confluence that had rejected her long ago. It would be one more year of the Hargensen party as well as the Nolan party, and their vicious sneers would merely be contemporary. However, an inkling of brooding knowledge became acquainted with her: even in her last walk of life, the feeling of not belonging was now elongated.

_Jocund vulgarity, secret smiles in a school assembly while Principal Grayle produced an optimistic façade; assignments graded based on the student rather than the source material; teachers that will never listen unless it's an examination of graphs that document world population and food supply; an incessant need to shock, and the shock that you feel when you can't go through with it; snickers, pinches, and maybe a book flung here and there for better effect; crying in the locker room, holding the cross necklace that provides no comfort, let alone the belief in a Savior_―

"Carrie?" Margaret touched Carrie's shoulder, causing her to flinch. She looked up at her mother and blinked hazily, like she had treaded through a bathhouse and the hot water was still weighing down on her. "Carrie, were you even listening?"

"Yes, Momma. Ephesians, right?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded, pleased but curt. "Seventeen through eighteen. You recite those verses and I'll read the last one."

"Okay, Momma." Carrie knotted her hands together, probing through the clutters of biblical verses in her mind. "That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height."

Margaret smiled, and murmured, "And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. Amen."

"A-amen." Carrie stuttered, pressing her shaking hands against her mouth. Even when Margaret uncoiled from her prayer, Carrie didn't reciprocate; she remained locked and shivering. Margaret, acknowledging this, plodded towards her and wrapped her into a tight hug.

"Carrie," Margaret whispered, kissing her daughter's forehead, "what's wrong, sweetie?"

"N-nothing, Momma." Carrie said, trying to relax her tense muscles. "I'm just nervous about school, I guess."

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time," Margaret spoke, searching for an enigmatic quality that she knew wasn't there. "Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you."

Carrie was partially rankled by her mother's monotonous quotes, but the authenticity of her words provided enough comfort. Carrie rested her head against her mother's neck as Margaret stroked her daughter's hair. The concordance with the misfits and the once-fits was solidified in Sixth Grade, but Carrie was only happy to know that she would be away from Ewen High and everything else would be rendered null and void.

Carrie withdrew from Margaret's arms, kissed her cheek, and made her way upstairs. She went to her bedroom and locked the door, trying to discard the pious melodies that hummed from downstairs. _One more year_, she told herself, and she left it at that.

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**A/N: This is a story request from Normanjokerwise, one of my deviantART friends. One of his favorite pairings is Carrie White and Jennifer Check. I will be honest, I'm not a huge slash/femslash fan, but I see a very interesting camaraderie between these girls. Carrie White's the innocent martyr played by Chloë Grace Moretz, and Jennifer Check is...well, she's Megan Fox. 'Nuff said.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this really short prologue and feel free to leave a review telling me what you thought of it. However, unlike most YouTube dramawhores, I embrace bad reviews as well.**

**Moral of the Internet: don't ask for reviews if you can't handle criticism. :D**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


	2. 1: School Protocol

**DISCLAIMER: ****_Carrie _****owns my sanity and ****_Jennifer's Body _****owns my virginity. But what do I get? Nada.**

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When the car stopped and Carrie took a good look at Ewen High, she thought that the school had grown monstrously over the summer. In retrospect, nothing seemed out of place. A gaudy _welcome back_ banner hung from the roof, and it appeared that Billy had already vandalized it. Carrie wasn't known for sardonic humor, but nothing looked more welcoming than being told in thick, childish scrawls to go fuck yourself.

"That's _far_ from dutiful," Margaret chuckled, leaning over to peck Carrie's cheek. "I'll pick you up after school. I have a quick errand at the pharmacy to make, and then we'll be on our way home."

"Yes, ma'am." Carrie opened the door and stepped out. A throng of girls set their eyes on her. One of them sniggered and made a rude gesture; the rest saved the trouble and laughed. Carrie gingerly shut the door behind her and ventured forward, trying to shy away from the nameless somebodies.

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Only ten minutes spent walking into the gymnasium, and already a cluster of renewed terminology: _Hey there, cow-ass, how's the Holy—bet she knows how to find God—who art in Hell, rotted be her—oh God, oh God—bet you five bucks she'd do it for a Klondike—ten bucks she'd take it—we've sure missed YOU, Carrie—_

Carrie cringed, padding up the bleachers. It wasn't more than twenty strides, and the regretful sluice had already flooded her head. As she tried to claim a seat on the bleachers, Chris Hargensen shouldered her out of her way and sat down. The girls near Hargensen turned their attention towards Carrie and Chris, their interest piqued.

"What?" Chris smirked, running a blithe hand through her hair. "I already gave at the office. Judging by that shit-stained dress, it wasn't enough."

The girls marveled at Chris's retort and joined in, sticking out their lower lips and mock whimpering. Carrie shook her head and walked further up, finding a solitary spot in the highest bleacher. She ignored Chris's fierce glance and held her cross necklace. She reminded herself to put it on later.

Principal Grayle stepped in front of podium, clearing his throat near the microphone. "Welcome back Ewen High! It's great to see all your smiling faces again."

The forced artfulness in his voice was admittedly awkward, but some of the students remained silent while Grayle shuffled through his back-to-school announcements. Tina Blake thumbed at her iPhone while he was mumbling, and snickered at a text she received from her friends; Norma Watson made a face at a distant jock, tonguing the piece of gum that was flattened against her palate.

Grayle shot his head up and said tersely: "Alright, all students that are sitting up the highest, please come down. The teachers taking attendance can't see you."

The only significant student that was sitting up the highest was Carrie, but the others groaned and complied. As Carrie made her way down the steps, she felt Norma's gum bounce off of her face and tangle into a few strands of hair. When she glanced at Norma, she immediately floundered at the sight of irate recognition replacing commonplace humor. She sat down and was greeted by Tina's curled sneer. Even though she jerked around to whisper into Chris's ear, Carrie could hear the faintest whisper of _she's gotta ruin everything_.

Gotta ruin everything? Carrie could make a few dresses and memorize her Latin phrases, but she's gotta ruin everything. Carrie simply shrugged and bit the inside of her cheek, making sure to look down to ignore the girls' dagger-eyes.

"Quick update on faculty news," Grayle said, lolling over each syllable. "We've installed new computers in the library, and we're now monitoring what websites you click on. So, if a student logs into a computer and searches for inappropriate material, the student will be reprimanded immediately."

"Suck those titties!" George Dawson catcalled, fondling his nipples through his T-shirt. A roar of laughter greeted the large gymnasium. One of the English Composition teachers shushed him and scribbled his name onto a small notepad.

"That's enough, Dawson." Grayle said, smiling a little at the light humor. "For lunch today, we're serving vegetable lasagna as part of our Calorie Crusher program, which was initiated over summer by our benevolent lunch lady Mrs. Vattin. Let's give her a round of applause this morning."

There was a reluctant silence, followed by a quick billow of school-assembly cheerfulness. Mrs. Vattin took a bow and nodded, hiding her embarrassed smile. She was a portly woman with more knots and blotched dye atop her head than hair. Chris has made those kind of comments before, and she reiterated them to another friend of hers, resulting in an obedient laugh.

"We will have a jamboree after school at five o'clock in order to send our football team off on a path to victory against Ashland tonight. Be sure to come by in order to support our team. In other news, we have a new student joining our fine educational facility."

"Probably another fatass from the sticks," Chris muttered, rolling her eyes. "Bring it on, Grayle."

"She's from Massachusetts and she's here for Senior Year. Please give a warm, Ewen welcome to our new student: Jennifer Check."

It wasn't until Jennifer Check stepped into the gym that the crowd was stirred up. Even Carrie perked at the sight of her. Jennifer was an unusually beautiful girl. Her hair was unevenly fluffed; her eyebrows were arched and amused, with sharp blue eyes to accentuate them. She was dressed in a full outfit—she wore a black sweater along with slacks and pumps—but she somehow managed to convey her svelte body through those thick garments.

She walked up to the podium. Grayle patted her shoulder. "Say hello to the crowd, Jennifer."

Jennifer didn't hear Grayle. She just eyed the microphone, keeping her hands by her side like a disobedient child being called front and center.

Grayle nodded considerately, motioning his hand at the bleachers. "Okay, I get it. You can go find yourself a seat. You don't have to talk in front of everyone."

Jennifer nodded, mouthed a quiet _thank you_, and made her way to the bleachers. She sat in the very front, ignoring her incongruity amongst more eminent teenagers. Carrie blinked at her a few times, unsure of what she is fixated on. She was unsure if she was analyzing her looks or her personality, because it's rare for a teenager (especially a New Girl) to somehow walk in showing off both.

Chris, noticing who Carrie was staring at, gagged and turned to Tina. "Seriously? She's got a wetty for the new girl?"

Carrie ignored the subtle jeer, fumbling the cross in her hand. She gulped, feeling an intense pain in her head. She believed it to be the backlash from trekking through the river of sexts and powdered doughnuts, but this felt like longing. The best way to describe it was longing to make something happen, even though nothing is happening. _Maybe it's just a headache_, Carrie thought. _It'll go away_.

She glanced up once, twice, and heard Grayle dismiss the students to homeroom in order to receive their First Day Syllabuses. In spite of her adamant disbelief, Carrie thought that she saw Jennifer eyeing her as well.

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**A/N: Hmm...Carrie's getting ambiguous headaches and Jennifer looks like she wants the P...****_it's meant to be!_**

**Derp. :P**

**So, hopefully you enjoyed the first chapter and hopefully you agree that Chris is just an annoying bitch. Trust me, she gets even more annoying later on, but for good, ass-kicking reason. :3**

**Leave a review telling me what you thought, aaaaand I need to go watch people spazz out over the death of an alcoholic, Atheist dog from a cartoon. Baaaiii~**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


	3. 2: Under the Radar

**DISCLAIMER: It's hard trying to juggle attempting to claim possession of ****_Carrie _****as well as ****_Jennifer's Body _****w/ trying to keep my guy friends from jacking off to the thought of Chloë-Grace Moretz and Megan Fox having a lesbian slumber party. Trust me, it's tougher than you thought.**

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Carrie realized long ago that the best advantage from being a misfit is being able to actually _see _anything around her. Most people could see the clouds roll over their heads or the strands of hair blow into their faces; they could see dirty messages, discarded homework assignments, and obscene fingers pointing at each other. They could see the physical form of bullshit, but not the metaphysical truths as to why it's bullshit.

The popular kids could only see, but Carrie White could _see_.

However, she was smart enough to never share this information with anyone. She was smart enough to hold her own and pretend that they couldn't notice. However, a part of her hated herself for that. She knew they were there. She knew about their established regulation towards people like her, and to coexist without giving them recognition would be as sinful as disregarding the latest gossip found on Page 23. There are passages and parables to be memorized, rectified—even so far as to be engraved—

Carrie never wanted to turn to Page 23, but she could already visualize the content. It would be what her Momma described as "the Jackal's dance", cluttered with all sizes of scantiness, both in clothing and faith. The blackness of curiosity brewed in her, and Carrie often found her mind straying to images of herself dressed in such lingerie. The images of her swathed in sheathes of lace and silk that left little to the imagination sickened her, and she would often cry about it when Momma sent her to the closet to pray; but it was hard to ignore the thought of looking at herself in the mirror, seeing her svelte figure, and snickering about the fact that Chris gained almost fifteen pounds over the summer.

In fact, it amazed Carrie how highly the girls thought of themselves when they weren't wearing scarlet letters just for being glanced at. Carrie vaguely remembered hearing a slew of gossip towards Tina Blake in Sophomore Year about how seventy-three percent of the guys at Ewen rated her as "Not" rather than "Hot" on a nameless social-networking cite. Of course, the conversation ventured into restless tirades against her, but the look on Tina's face would've been a Kodak moment. Carrie also remembered a day when Norma Watson ran into the bathroom, crying for hours upon end because a rumor about her sleeping with a throng of popular jocks had caught fire. Carrie wanted to comfort her. She always wanted to comfort those girls whenever they were under the knife, but she also reveled in their tears, because in about four blinks of an eye, they knew what it was like to be her.

Having these resentful thoughts felt very uncharacteristic of her, but they still solidified into a leaden weight her thoughts bore, as if to mollify the gaping hole in her self-image. In a sense, Carrie found the key instinct to survive was to hold a grudge, in spite of the passive smile she tried to give over the years. How else could the ringleader and her contortionists have constructed this grandiose circus over the years in order to appease the masses? Carrie understood too well how it felt to be lion and wanting to roar or snap her mouth around the self-imposed pundit's head.

So, Carrie kept these personal laws intact when she braved through the last First Day. The weight of inadequateness kept her head down and her shoulders slumped, but the ache felt light today. She read all her syllabuses for her classes, and she also read the comments some classmates wrote on the back of them. Carrie expressed slight humor towards the lack of grammatical insight rather than the vivid impudence. She enjoyed a green apple and a bottle of water for lunch while some of the guys tossed potato chips at her, oinking at her fervently. She combed all the crumbs out of her hair in the bathroom before Fifth Period Personal Finance, and in that class, it wasn't more than ten minutes before Chris called attention to the class in order alert them of a certain greasy nun that entered the room. She was reminded of that status for the rest of the day, and when Momma finally picked her up at the end of the day, she didn't come to a proper conclusion as to how her day was.

The only thing that piqued Carrie's interest was how the New Girl, Jennifer Check, hardly hung around the popular people. She didn't even attend lunchtime with Chris and her Mortimer Snerds. Jennifer refused to speak when called upon, and she didn't socialize during Free Period. Carrie heard Jennifer throwing up in the restroom while she was combing the crumbs out of her hair. Throughout the jungle of sneering faces, Jennifer glanced at her often, but Carrie never discovered any materialistic malice in her eyes. If anything, Jennifer actually looked pleasant towards her. The piece of evidence that made Carrie come to her conclusion was how every time Jennifer caught her glance, she simply smiled and waved.

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**A/N: Dammit, short chapter. Yeah, I don't know why, but I wanted another build-up chapter rather than immediately have Jenny and Carrie make pinkie swears at first glance. Plus, I'm not necessarily in the best frame of mind right now, so I need more time to calm down rather than be charged for sixty-two counts of thesaurus raep.**

**Either way, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and I promise that I'm going to bring in more consistent caliber in the upcoming chapters. So, I hope you all are having an awesome day and I hope you have an awesome weekend. :)**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


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